


Arpeggio

by Arithanas



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sister Julienne confides Shelagh a vage sensation, almost in sisterly confidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arpeggio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/gifts).



> My gratitude to [Zdenka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka) for the beta work.

Sometimes life has its own way of showing us its meaning. As a midwife and trained nurse, Shelagh finds herself completely attuned to feel when life is about to part its veil and reveal the majestic mercy of divinity. The timing, on the other hand, is always a mystery, for the human soul is never ready to determine when joys are about to be generously poured on a troubled soul or upon the upturned brow of the deserving.

Life, as I was relating, surprised Shelagh when her fingers were holding the frail handle of one the convent’s finest china cups. Her ears caught a sigh, and a friendly hand settled on the hand holding the saucer. Shelagh was not anxious; Sister Julienne was not a person to hold a fear inside when she had a caring one to share the burden.

“Sometimes, my dear friend,” Sister Julienne said, a faint smile appearing on her face, “I have the certainty that our mission will be fulfilled in my lifetime.”

Shelagh mirrored her smile by sheer force of habit, before the words “our mission” unchained a veritable cascade of memories.

Do

“As part of our mission, we are here to help those who lack succour and support,” the young sister-in-charge instructed the novice sent from Chichester house. She didn’t even stop piling up the tightly packaged dressing gauze while imparting her words of welcome “The mother with too many children. The father who has experienced more than his share of fatigue. The boy injured while working a man’s job. The old woman without anyone to care for her...”

The sharp aroma of astringent surfactant filled young Shelagh’s nose, the glimmer of clean surfaces brought a smile to her eyes, the hard ends of her recently cut hair grazed her neck, and that stern voice was almost overwhelming. Yet neither the discomfort of her senses nor the sacrifice of her beauty upset her, for that voice was filled with competence, compassion and charity.

“These are the souls God puts into our care, these are the ones worthy of the toil of our hands, the sweat of our brow and the time of our devotion.”

Shelagh nodded respectfully and mumbled her agreement. She had a whole year to consider the task ahead; she supposed her load would be monumental.

The sister-in-charge turned around and awarded the novice a bright smile that appropriately harmonized with the warmth of her voice, “Do you have any questions?”

“Just one, Sister Julienne.” Shelagh couldn’t help her eagerness. “When does it seem appropriate for me to commence my endeavours?”

Mi

Solace and peace, surprisingly, were scarce goods at Nonnatus House. Although the phone was already a constant and ubiquitous presence in London, the majority of the humble dwellings of the East End lacked this convenient service. Shelagh was accustomed to visits by friendly policemen informing her of a woman who sought help at the end of her pregnancy or to the presence of a poor worker who, in a thick Cockney accent, asked for help for his “ball and chain.” Having a moment to escape the daily grind was a luxury Shelagh was not well-disposed to lose.

Her time with the hymnals of the services seemed to her precious and indispensable, even more important than her duties as midwife. Her youth could not bear to deprive of pleasures of music.

Sister Evangeline cut short this distraction in her usual way. It was not that she lacked compassion; however, one had to admit that she reserved it, along with her wit and her altruism, for more deserving causes. Her roughed roughened hand, her blunt fingers on the crackling paper seemed like a sacrilege to Shelagh.

“May I ask the young miss,” Sister Evangeline asked with her best sarcastic tone, “what use it would be and who would benefit from pretty music?”

Shelagh, who had already decided to take the name of Bernadette when it was her turn to take her vows, was silent. Her silence was not because she did not know what answer to give, but because a prompt and venomous reply to Sister Evangeline’s lack of finesse was definitely not the best route to peace and silence.

Sol

Sister Bernadette returned to Nonnatus House utterly crestfallen, and a part of her was afraid of being devoid of hope. Since she had donned the habit and taken her vows she had taken her labour seriously, and yet not all the tragedies of life could be spared to the young. That was the night when Sister Bernadette assisted her first stillborn delivery.

Sister Julienne watched for her return, her hands folded, resting neatly over the Book of Common Prayer; not with an expression of defiance, but with the calm manner a soldier would use in resting his hand upon the holster of his weapon. She asked no questions, she offered no words.

What else she could do, when all her work was not enough?

The only sensible thing Sister Bernadette managed to do was sit by her side, letting the horror and the fatigue seep out of her tired body. It was not the deep night of the soul, but certainly it was a tough stretch, a bitter drink, a... a collection of platitudes that were not enough to describe the turmoil reigning inside her chest and her head.

The soft chimes of the clock in the kitchen warned them of the passing time.Sister Bernadette heard a soft sigh and then she felt the touch of a firm and resolved hand.

“Should we sing ‘Let saints on earth in concert sing,’ Sister?”

Do

It was only a moment, like a perfect arpeggio, a divine gift like a testament to the life they shared as two sisters. Although the presence of Sister Evangeline in her memories was rather puzzling, Shelagh’s memory was never a straight line.

Human memory never travels the most direct path; we carry our past on our backs, in our hands, in our senses. Past is always present in the way we choose to live, in the options we take, in the scenes that made us what we are. We move to the music they play and react to the way memories have dyed our perception of the world.

Shelagh Turner smiled back at Sister Julienne, proud of her use of the possessive, knowing perfectly well that their mission would only end when those deprived of the means of survival no longer required the care of the Sisters of Saint Raymond Nonnatus.

“God willing, Sister.”

The distant rumble of another ancient building falling down forbade her to continue. The East End was changing so fast...


End file.
